


Love at First Disgusted Noise

by rhetoricalrogue



Series: Bad Flirting and Disgusted Noises [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Non-Linear Narrative, One Shot Collection, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Rolfe as Inquisitor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 13:40:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18053558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhetoricalrogue/pseuds/rhetoricalrogue
Summary: He fell for her the moment she first glared at him.  Series of one-shots featuring Rolfe Trevelyan as the Inquisitor.





	1. "All you had to do was ask"

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going through my Tumblr archive and trying to collect all my one shots of Inquisitor!Rolfe in one place. Most of these are unconnected and out of sequential order since I'm posting from earliest written to most recent.
> 
> This chapter based off the time I wandered into the dragon at the Hinterlands way under the recommended level.

“Now _that_ ,” Varric said in amazement, “is a dramatic death.” He and Cassandra watched as the dragon they had been fighting let loose one last plume of fire before spiraling down to the ground in what could only be described as an elegant heap.

“Did you see that?” the Iron Bull roared, holding his axe above his head. “That was the most impressive shit I’ve ever seen! Boss, this is the best day ever!”

Rolfe sheathed his daggers and wiped his brow with the back of his forearm. “And to think, it isn’t even your birthday,” he quipped.

Cassandra frowned. Usually when they fought something as big as the dragon they had just defeated, Rolfe was just as enthusiastic about it as Bull. “Are you all right?” she asked, coming up to his side. Once she got closer, she saw that he was pale and clammy looking. “Are you hurt?”

Rolfe turned his head and tried to give her a reassuring smile, but he coughed, his hand coming away from his mouth bloody. “It’s just a scratch,” he told her, his leg bucking under him.

Cassandra dove for him, catching him before he fell. “You’re bleeding,” Cassandra said, trying to keep panic out of her voice when she pressed her hand to his chest to steady him and blood began to well up between her fingers. “And _badly_.”

Rolfe dragged his hand across his chest and stared dumbly at the bright red on his fingers. “Oh shit, will you look at that?” Cassandra guessed that he would have had something else to say, but his eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed, his body becoming dead weight in her arms.

When Rolfe came to, he was inside of a tent that he didn’t remember entering and Cassandra was straddling his lap. “Hey now,” he mumbled, hands groggily reaching for her. “You didn’t even buy me dinner.”

“Stop that.” She batted his hands away and went back to work on undoing the many buckles and laces in his armor. 

“Says the woman sitting in my lap,” he slurred.

That earned an exasperated huff from her as she sat back on her heels. “This tent is too small and I need to get you out of this.”

Rolfe’s lips quirked up into a weak grin. “If you wanted to see me naked so badly, all you had to do was ask.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes as she lifted the front portion of his leather cuirass away from his body. “You are the only man I know who can flirt while being heavily wounded and suffering from blood loss.”

Rolfe tried to help her take the rest of his gear off, but groaned in pain. “If I ain’t flirtin’, I ain’t breathin’.”

“Then I guess I should be thankful for small favors.”

“Aww, I knew you cared for me, Seeker.”

Cassandra uncorked a healing potion and pressed it to his lips. “Do not call me that, Herald.”

“Then don’t call me _that_ ,” he countered, lifting his head as she pressed another potion bottle to his lips.

“Fine.”

“Fine, what?”

Another sigh. “Fine… _Rolfe_.”

He gave a triumphant smirk. “See, now was that so hard, Cassandra?”

Her eyes softened and she absently brushed hair out of his eyes. “No, it wasn’t.” Clearing her throat, she wet a rag and gingerly began cleaning the blood off his chest so she could see what sort of damage remained that the potions hadn’t gotten around to healing. “You’re lucky that you didn’t get killed fighting that thing the way you did.”

Rolfe winced when she hit a tender spot. “Wasn’t worried. You had my back.”

“If I truly did, then you wouldn’t be in this condition. You were careless.”

“Aww, did you worry about me?”

Her frown deepened. “If you die, we will not be able to close the rifts still left, not to mention closing the Breach itself.” She rummaged in the pack next to her and pulled out bandages and a pot of healing paste. She scooped out a generous amount and Rolfe was certain that she would slap it onto the injuries he still had, but she was surprisingly gentle. “There is so much riding on you. Please be careful next time.”

“I’ll try my best.” He reached out and circled her wrist with his fingers, pressing her palm to his chest. “I think that paste is worked in well enough,” he teased as he felt her fingers freeze from where they had been absently stroking his skin.

Cassandra blushed and yanked her hand away from his grip. “It doesn’t look like you need bandaging. Take another potion and get some rest.” She made a move to swing her leg over him and leave, but he caught her, his hand warm at her waist.

“Don’t leave.” He looked up at her and Cassandra felt her heart dip somewhere down to her stomach and then back up towards her throat. “I saw the hit you took earlier on; you need looking after too.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said, softening her words as she moved to kneel at his side instead of above him. “Thank you for your concern.”

They were quiet, both of them staring the other down and something that neither of them could properly describe crackling between them. Then Rolfe broke the silence by giving her one of his trademark smirks. “I’m not the only one that needs to rest; there is room in here for two, you know. It might be a little close quarters, but I think we could manage.” He pat the small space between them invitingly.

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Drink your potion and get some sleep,” she commanded. Even though her words were firm, there was humor evident in his voice.

“Won’t you kiss me goodnight then? I don’t know how I’d manage otherwise.”

She backed out of his tent. “Good _night_ , Rolfe.”

Rolfe chuckled as the canvas flaps snapped shut behind her retreat. Alone, he allowed himself the luxury of making the pained face he had been aching to do since he woke up. Biting back a groan, he used his teeth to pull off the cork of a potion vial and drank it down in one go. Gingerly flopping back onto his bedroll, he gave a toothy grin up at the ceiling.

_She said my name._ “Good night, Cassandra.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by my disastrous run of the Frostback Basin where I ran into the rift that spat out four pride demons at once. Written in November of 2016.

“Why is it that Pride demons are always so damned _huge?_ ” Rolfe asked, rolling out of the way of a blast of crackling electricity.

“The bigger the ego, the bigger the baddie,” the Iron Bull grunted, swinging his axe as he cleaved a Despair demon in half. “By that logic, I wonder why you aren’t ten feet tall, Boss.”

“Ha, funny.” Rolfe grimaced as he focused the Anchor’s energy on the fade rift in front of them. They’d done this numerous times before already, but for some reason, the rifts in the Frostback Basin were worse than any they’d faced. The demons that poured out of them were bigger, faster and stronger than others before and for the first time in a long time, Rolfe was genuinely afraid of finding a rift that would be more difficult than what he and his party were capable of dealing with.

“Could we please focus, my dears?” Vivienne asked from the back, hands aflame as she crafted a fire trap where several other Despair demons had been traveling. In any other situation, Rolfe would have loved to step back and watch her work; Vivienne was a sight to behold on the battlefield, all unflappable grace and measured movements as she wielded the magic at her disposal in an elegant display of power. Even surrounded as they currently were, she never gave any indication that the fight they were currently engaged in was more than a minor irritation.

Rolfe hissed as the rift reacted to the anchor. It always felt as if there was a barbed line of wire connected from his palm to the rift, the sharp edges catching on his hand and pulling. There were far too many demons still undefeated to close the rift this way, but it never failed that attempting to seal it would weaken them all and give everyone else a chance to catch their breath momentarily.

The bright burst of pain that flared at his hand caused Rolfe to stumble momentarily and he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He always put himself in harm’s way when he attempted the move, seeing as he couldn’t move from his place or defend himself. Clumsily unsheathing the dagger at the small of his back – disturbing rifts never failed to momentarily leave his grip weak or hand numb to anything but the stinging pain that arced up from his fingers all the way to his elbow – he turned and tried to deflect the attack. Or he would have, had Cassandra and her shield not already been there.

“I have you,” she told him, letting loose a yell as she put all her weight into pushing back against the Rage demon, her shield shoving it straight into the path of one of Vivienne’s ice glyphs. There was a crackle of magic as the demon solidified into a block of ice, steam thick in the air. One solid bash of Cassandra’s shield paired with a powerful swing of her sword sent it shattering, the pain in Rolfe’s hand lessening as one more foe was taking off the battlefield.

“A little help here!” Bull yelled, hacking at one of the two Pride demons left. Rolfe breathed a sigh of relief: usually those were the last ones to step out of a rift; once they were defeated, it would be easy work to seal the rift for good and stabilize the area.

“Go, I have this one,” Cassandra told him. She protected Rolfe’s flank as he threw down one of the smoke bombs he carried on his belt, allowing himself to fall back unseen and attack from a stealthier angle. She screamed at the Pride demon to make certain that she had its attention to give him an extra layer of protection.

“ _Those who oppose thee shall know the wrath of heaven,_ ” she intoned, pulling from the well of power she had trained for years to cultivate. While she wasn’t augmented by lyrium, she could perform similar talents that Templars specialized in. “ _From the face of the earth, lightning shall rain from the sky. They shall cry out to their false gods,_ ” Closing her eyes momentarily, Cassandra channeled the holy energy building up within her and prayed for it to smite the demon in front of her. “ _And find silence._ ” She wasted no time relishing in the victory of a foe vanquished, running instead to Vivienne’s side to help her as she dodged icicles the remaining Despair demon lobbed her way.

“Oh, give me a break!” Rolfe cried, focusing on the rift as two additional Pride demons were spat out. “Andraste’s _tits_ , can we please have an easy fight here, just once?”

“This one’s toast, Boss, do the flashy thing with your hand already!”

Cassandra whirled around when she heard the roar, eyes widening at the sight of two fully guarded Pride demons lumbering their way. “ _Move!_ ” she commanded, standing in front of Vivienne to deflect the blow of the whip one of them cracked their way. She felt a thick layer of a barrier fall around her and she beat her sword against her shield to bring herself front and center to the remaining demons’ attacks. She was vaguely aware of Bull finishing off one of the three Pride demons before barreling past Rolfe, who was trying his best to hang back and activate the rift again.

“No,” she breathed, watching as one of the demons turned its attention towards Rolfe, who was wide open. “ _No!_ ” She didn’t think, she just ran. She could see that the rift was reacting with the Anchor and it would only be a few moments more before it was disturbed enough to give them an opening. She grunted as her shield made contact with the demon putting Rolfe in its sights, and she gasped as it reached out and grabbed her.

“ _Cassandra!_ ”

_Not like this,_ she thought, crying out as something - bone or armor, she couldn’t tell - snapped in her chest. “ _Let the blade pass through the flesh,_ ” she hissed, calling forth from her reserves of power once again. “ _Let my blood touch the ground, let my cries touch their hearts._ ” She had enough saliva in her mouth to spit spitefully in the demon’s face. “ _Let mine be the final sacrifice._ ”

The last thing she heard was Rolfe _howling_ her name. There was a bright flash of green light soon after, and then darkness.

* * *

Cassandra slowly woke to the gentle creaking sounds of tree branches moving in the breeze. Her eyes were gritty as she blinked them open and while her middle was sore and wrapped in a multitude of bandages, she wasn’t in any serious pain. Taking a breath, she carefully sat up. Someone had undressed her, taking off her armored coat and breastplate, but leaving her in her pants and boots. Her shirt was neatly folded on a nearby camp stool and she gingerly drew it over her head, hissing as the move pulled at muscles. It was dark in the elevated campsite and she wondered just which one they had gotten to, and better yet, what had happened since she had been out. Leaving her coat where it was, she slowly made her way out of the large tent designated as the camp’s infirmary, her arm cradled protectively around her middle.

She saw the Iron Bull first. He didn’t say anything to her, but the look he gave her was enough to telegraph the unspoken question of _are you okay_. She nodded, grateful he didn’t draw much attention to her. Without getting up from his seat, he gestured with his canteen towards the center of the treehouse campsite where they had set up the biggest tent that held their requisition table, potions bench and the camp’s miniature version of Skyhold’s war table with a map of the area spread out over it and held in place with large rocks. Rolfe was bent over the map, his shoulders hunched in a way that told anyone that he was under a large amount of stress. As engrossed as he was, he didn’t look up when she came up behind him.

“Take a letter,” he barked, still studying the map. “Stress to Commander Cullen the need for more ground troops to battle the Hakkonites now that the majority of the rifts in the area have been dealt with. While we’re not quite ready to take them on at their base of operations, we’re close.” He moved a marker towards the area of the map they had been in, his left hand flexing as if he were trying to shake off some residual pain from sealing the rift. “Request more medical supplies from Ambassador Montilyet. I’m recommending a full surgical team in each campsite. There will _not_ be a repeat of today’s events while we’re here.” 

“Shall I ask that an entire hospital be built on the treetops as well?”

Rolfe whirled around at the sound of her voice. She could feel his eyes roving over her, and for once his frank appraisal of her wasn’t in admiration, but to scan her for any sign of discomfort.

“I’m fine, Rolfe,” she said, trying to reassure him. “I’m…” she hadn’t taken two steps towards him when he bridged the gap between them, his hands coming up to frame her face as he bent his head and kissed her. There was a fierceness in the way his mouth moved across hers, all his usual finesse gone as their teeth clicked together.

“You weren’t breathing,” he said, his voice wavering as his fingers sifted through the short strands of her hair and his thumbs gently brushed against her cheeks. “The demon threw you down and you were just…” He pressed his forehead against hers and took a shuddering breath. “I would have lost you, had Vivienne not been there.”

“I’m here,” she murmured, hands moving over his chest to grip at the lapels of his coat.

“ _You nearly died for me._ ”

“And you were in the middle of turning the fight around. If I hadn’t…” Her grip on his coat tightened. “Your life is the most important one on the battlefield.”

“ _Bullshit._ ” He kissed her again, lips hard against hers. “This thing on my hand may be vital, but _you_ , Cassandra. You are the most important person in my life. Don’t you _dare_ think otherwise.” His hands slid down to her shoulders and mindful of any soreness she may have felt, pulled her to him. 

Cassandra sighed, her head fitting neatly against his shoulder and her hands going around him to splay across his back. “I stand by what I said,” she told him quietly, listening to the sound of his heart. “I may be important to you, Rolfe, but you’re just as important to me, Anchor or no.”

She could feel him press his lips against the crown of her head. “I can’t believe it took us this long to have this conversation,” he quipped. “What with what we encountered in the Emerald Graves and everything.”

Cassandra snorted, but held him closer. “We _ran_ from that giant, that’s why.”

“ _Two_ giants. And I do believe Bull cursed a blue streak the entire time.”

She laughed. “I seem to remember a certain person screaming as he ran.”

“That wasn’t _screaming_ ,” he countered, arms wrapping more securely around her. “I was shouting out a bolstering battle tune. Leliana taught it to me.”

“ _Dear Maker, we’re going to die?_ ” Cassandra lifted her head up from his shoulder and arched an eyebrow, relieved that Rolfe’s expression was back to his usual half-smile. “Funny, it must have been a new tune. I’ve never heard her sing it before.” Stepping a little way back from him, she tugged at his left arm until she held his hand in hers. “How bad is it?”

He shrugged. “Nothing I can’t handle.” He flexed his fingers, sighing in relief when she gently used her thumbs to massage the thick ridge of raised scars along the fleshier part close to his thumb before working down towards his wrist. “It still bothers me, which means that there’s more rifts out there somewhere close by.” He let her massage the ache away for a while longer before linking their fingers together and bringing her knuckles to his lips for a kiss.

“I love you, you know that, right?”

Cassandra cupped the side of his face with her right hand. “I do. I love you too.” She turned her head to stifle a yawn. “Just how did you get me up here anyway?”

He smiled. “Bull and I took turns carrying you, then we got you up on the lift. You know, all that armor you wear makes you a lot…”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Finish that sentence and regret it,” she warned, jabbing her finger against his chest.

Rolfe laughed and the sound after such a heavy conversation lightened her heart. “I wouldn’t dream of it, my lady.” Still holding onto her hand, he swooped down and kissed her, his right hand warm at her waist. “Come on, it’s been a long day. I think we can both use the rest.”

They walked towards another nearby tent that troops had designated as Rolfe’s private quarters. Inside, there was a large cot big enough for them both to lay in comfortably. “You know, this is a change from our usual lodgings,” Cassandra commented, watching the play of light from the nearby torches outside dance along the roof of the tent’s canvas. “I could get used to this.”

Rolfe shrugged his coat off and slid in beside her, turning on his side and flinging a leg over hers. “Even with the Hakkonites, overgrown lizards and multitude of poisonous spiders?”

“Well, when you put it that way…” She turned her head to look at him, noticing that Rolfe’s eyes were already drooping.

“Even without the wildlife, I’d still have my hands full trying to keep friendly Avvar from raiding our camp and stealing you away.”

That got her attention. “What?”

“You didn’t hear them back at Stone-Bear Hold?” Rolfe wrapped an arm around her, and she was touched at the way he was careful not to hold her too tightly, mindful of her bruises. “They saw you in battle, Love. Several of the warriors were smitten, as they _should_ be, at such a glorious display.”

Cassandra scoffed. “As if I’d let them try to steal me. And for what purpose? To anger their allies?”

Rolfe yawned and scooted closer to her. “On the contrary. According to some of the others I spoke with, they explained that attempting to kidnap you would be a compliment of the highest degree. It would mean that they see you, an outsider, as a suitable bride.” Without opening his eyes, Rolfe smirked at the dismissive noise she made. 

“And what did you say?”

“I asked them how I could politely tell everyone that you weren’t on the market for marriage. The answers I received varied from open combat between either myself and your potential suitors or _you_ and your potential suitors to some custom involving a goat, several sheaves of wheat, and a length of rope that you’re supposed to knot and then I work at untying.”

“What is it with Avvar and goats?” she asked, carefully rolling to her side to face him. The slight give of the camp bed didn’t press as badly against her side as she had feared.

“You have me there.” He cracked open an eye. “Though from the way that the merchant woman explained it, I have to say that the latter custom sounded like it was essentially us getting married.” He watched as Cassandra stared at him before gently reaching up and closing her gaping mouth with his index finger. “Relax, if there are ever any proposals made, I promise not to include goats in them.”

Cassandra stared at him, her mouth dry. His words may have been teasing, but the tone he said them in had been serious. “Well,” she started, fingers idly tracing over the soft material of his tunic. “If there are any proposals made, I promise not to fight you when you break into my quarters to steal me away.” She winked at him. “ _Much._ ”

His laughter rang out in the tent and he leaned over to press a fond kiss over her cheek. “Well, there won’t be any bride-stealing any time soon. We have some pressing matters on our hands; I wasn’t joking when I said that Cullen should send more of our troops our way to secure the area.”

Cassandra was drifting off when she felt Rolfe brush her hair away from her eyes. “After, though,” he said, his voice low and lips warm on her forehead. “I can’t promise I won’t try.”


	3. requests and compositions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written in November 2016 for the Kissing Day event [thesecondseal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesecondseal/works) hosted on Tumblr. Set sometime pre-relationship and in the early days of living in Skyhold.

Skyhold was a hive of activity on any given day, but there was a festive hum of anticipation on the air with the weather turning towards fall and winter; many of the people who now called Skyhold their home had either originally been Fereldans who had fled to Kirkwall during the Blight or people who had been originally from Kirkwall. Either way, Kissing Day traditions were alive and well.

Cassandra loved it. While she hadn’t personally participated in the festivities herself, she had been aware of the custom. It seemed as if it was already going to be celebrated no matter what, but once word got out that Inquisitor Trevelyan was incredibly fond of the day, everyone pulled out all the stops. Josephine was in her element, ordering crates of red and pink ribbons and starched lace hearts to adorn the Great Hall. The Herald’s Rest had been similarly decorated, even if it had been toned down just a bit to fit the tavern’s general aesthetic – and Cabot’s temperament, if Cassandra had to guess. Even Horsemaster Dennet was getting into the spirit, their mounts sporting red ribbons braided into their manes or tails. The sweet smell of baked goods and confections had been coming from the kitchens for days, and since the Inquisitor himself had sanctioned the holiday once celebrated mostly by people of the Free Marches, visiting dignitaries had been writing back to their countries. Cassandra and Leliana had gotten together over a few glasses of wine one night and laughed at how quickly the holiday had grown popular amongst the Orlesians, Leliana reporting that she had already heard tales of how they were spinning the day to have originated in Orlais since some of the nobility couldn’t bear the thought of some backwater country inventing a day so highly marketable. The fact that the holiday was predominantly celebrated in Kirkwall, a place of such turmoil over the past few years, particularly stuck in some nobles’ craws. 

Yet Cassandra didn’t care much for the opinions of the people visiting their home, she cared for the way that she saw more people smiling and in good spirits more than anything else. Haven was still a fresh wound, even a year later, and their people needed something good to give them some hope. Her feet automatically turned towards the tavern. _Rolfe_ was such a beacon of hope, however much he wanted to downplay that fact. The man was adamant that people see him as himself, faults and all, instead of some untouchable icon. Cassandra respected him for the way that he sought to keep himself humble, even as she admired the deeds he alone could perform, be they closing rifts or getting the solemnest child who had lost everything at Haven to crack a smile and play with the others. He had a way about him that people could relate to, and even though he hid it underneath a heavy layer of charming rogue, Rolfe Trevelyan had a soft heart and a kind soul.

She needed to watch herself around him. It would be very easy to fancy herself somewhat in love with the man, especially since he made no secret of the fact that he admired her. Yet the attraction she felt was a distraction that they did not need right now. Their attention needed to be on stopping Corypheus and sealing the rifts that had sprung up over most of southern Thedas. Besides, he was the Inquisitor; he could have the pick of any woman he wanted. Why would he choose a brash, headstrong and opinionated woman who was better at bashing things with her shield than coyly fluttering her eyelashes?

Sighing at the way her thoughts had turned, she pushed open the door to the tavern and was instantly greeted by the sight of Maryden, Rolfe, and Varric sitting with their heads together at a booth near the entrance. Maryden and Varric were busily writing things down in notebooks while Rolfe lounged with one foot on the table and plucked out a tune on the lute he held. She forcibly shoved down the butterflies that began to flutter in her chest at the way that he looked at her when she came in, his face lighting up as he smiled, almost as if he had been waiting all day to see her.

“Cassandra! Come, join us!” Rolfe shoved his leg off the table and scooted over on the bench to give her room enough to sit. Without asking, he poured her a drink from the bottle of wine the three of them had been sharing and pushed the cup towards her.

She thanked him with a nod of her head as she took a sip. “What are you three doing?” she asked, looking at the various crumpled up pages of paper sitting amongst the empty cups and stack of plates. The notebook in front of Rolfe was full of half-drawn music notes and randomly scribbled words. She didn’t have much talent reading music, but she could tell that he was composing something, or perhaps a number of smaller somethings.

“We are in the height of our calling,” Varric supplied, using his index finger to push the pair of wire framed spectacles up his nose. “With Kissing Day only a few days away, our talents have been in high demand.”

“Yes,” Maryden added. “We’ve been getting requests from all over Skyhold to serenade lovers or deliver sweet notes to secret admirers. It’s all rather exciting!” She excused herself as someone called out to her with a song request.

Cassandra arched her eyebrow. “And let me guess, the three of you aren’t doing this out of the kindness of your heart, are you?”

Rolfe grinned. “Of course not. Kindness will get you some places, but it certainly won’t pay for another drink at the bar.” He strummed his lute and wrote another note down. “Oh, don’t look at me that way, Cassandra. We’re not charging an arm and a leg for our services and we’re donating all the proceeds to the relief effort Prince Vael is organizing to get Kirkwall back on its feet. I’m not keeping a single silver coin.”

She traced the hammered out dents of the mug in her hands with her fingers. “I didn’t mean to imply…”

“Oh yes you did, Seeker.” Varric softly grunted when Rolfe none too subtly kicked him under the table. “Hey, how’s this one? _My heart is aflame with affection and only you can quench it._ ”

“It sounds cheesy and saccharinely trite,” Rolfe told him, picking up his notebook and looking at it critically. “I _love_ it.”

“I’ll add it to the pile going to the blacksmith. What’s with that guy anyway? I’ve gotten I don’t know how many requests to write sappy love notes to him from all sorts of people.”

“It’s his arms,” Cassandra casually supplied, taking another drink. “He rolls his sleeves up to his elbows and shows off his forearms.”

Rolfe sat up straighter. “Is that all? Now I’m offended. I’ve had my sleeves rolled up past my forearms for _months_ and I don’t even get a sideways glance from you out of the corner of your eye or a stare when you think I’m not looking.”

Varric guffawed. “Maybe you’re not as fascinating as you think you are, Charmer.”

“Et tu, Varric? I’m mortally wounded!”

“Eh, you’ll get over it, I’m sure.” Varric drained the last of his mug and collected his notebook of love letters. “I’m tapped out. I think I’m going to take a break, maybe visit with the kid upstairs to see if he can offer any insight on a few of these requests later on today.”

Rolfe waved at him as Varric left the tavern, his eyes looking up towards the second floor balcony when he caught movement out of Sera’s corner. “What, the three of you breaking up already?” she called out, leaning over the banister.

“Looks that way. Creative minds run out of steam, you know.”

“Shame you didn’t ask me for help, I could have told you to put this into one of your little tunes.” Cassandra made a face as Sera crudely wiggled her tongue between her outstretched index and middle fingers.

Rolfe scratched at his chin. “I think I can work with it.” He took his lute up and began to play. “ _Sera was never an agreeable girl, but her tongue delights all the laaadies!_ ”

“You arse!” She made a motion as if she were going to throw one of her shoes at him, but it would have been more effective if she hadn’t been laughing the entire time.

“Hey, it’s free advertising!”

“Advertise this!” Sera made another rude gesture with her arm before heading back into her little alcove.

“Charming,” Cassandra commented, relaxing against the bench.

Rolfe laughed in agreement. “It wouldn’t be Sera otherwise.” Turning on the bench so he was facing her, he rested an elbow on the table. “So, what brings you to my neck of the woods, Cassandra?”

She blinked, ignoring the way he leaned towards her and she could catch the woodsy scent of his cologne. “I wanted to get a drink,” she told him. “The fact that you were here didn’t enter into my mind.” Cassandra watched as his usual confident demeanor flickered before getting shoved back in place. It was only for a brief second, but she entertained the thought that he of all people would have been hurt by her brushing him aside. “But I have to admit that you’re welcome company.”

His usual charming smile widened and that confidence that he held front and center was back in full force. “I’m finding the present company far better than what I was doing earlier.”

“Oh? I thought that the three of you were in your element,” she teased.

“Well, we were, but I wasn’t kidding. Us creative types definitely needed a break. Varric’s prose was getting purpler by the second and Maryden’s songs were all starting to sound alike. We’ll pick up the last bits of requests we have left to write about in the morning when we’ve had a chance to reset and recharge.”

Cassandra eyed the notebook that Rolfe had closed and pushed aside. “Have you been getting many requests?”

He nodded, reaching out to fill up the glass that had been sitting in front of him. “Not as many as Varric and Maryden, but it’s been fun trying to write up new songs on the fly like this. They’re nothing grand, but it helps to have something like this to take my mind off the big, scary, end of the world type things that we’ve been dealing with on a daily basis.”

Cassandra’s eyes went to Rolfe’s temples, where there were one or two new strands of silver peeking out of the rich dark brown of his hair. She saw the pinched look to his eyes that to everyone else – herself until now included – could misinterpret as laugh lines. He had a tenseness in the way he carried himself, even now as they relaxed amid the tavern. “You’re right. We have been pushing you too hard, Rolfe.”

He shook his head. “It isn’t pushing if I’m the one willingly walking in the same direction, Cassandra.” Rolfe held up his left hand and flexed it. The Anchor was silent, and she saw that the marks that scarred his palm lacked the usual greenish glow that emanated from them when they went out in the field. “I was given this thing for a reason and I’ll be damned if I don’t do my best with what I have.”

She scooted closer to him. “You’re right,” she repeated. “But that doesn’t mean that you have to run yourself into the ground at the same time. Fighting without stopping to rest only leaves you exhausted.”

Rolfe sighed and drank. “Spoken like someone who’s had that experience.”

“I have.” Trying to change the topic onto more pleasant things, she gestured towards his notebook again. “Can you tell me who has the most requests to be serenaded, or am I going to have to wait like everyone else?”

“You know, if you were anyone else, I’d have to disappoint you. Yet since I find myself incapable of denying you anything, I’ll divulge all my secrets.” He wiggled his eyebrows for emphasis. “The Iron Bull leads with six song requests. He came up to me and said that for every lewd song I sing him, he’ll match the donation price, so I’ve been trying to come up with songs that build up on the innuendo. I’m starting to get at a loss for words that rhyme with _riding_.”

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”

“Cullen, no surprise, is in second place with four song requests. I think two of them are from Scout Jim, but I’m not quite sure. Blackwall has two, and I’m working on a very special Symphony to Glorious Chest Hair for Varric. The request came anonymously, but just between you and I, I think Varric paid for that one himself. I have a lovely little tune in the works for Josephine, but that’s all the requests that I’ve been commissioned for.”

She looked down at her cup. “Oh.”

Rolfe leaned closer to her and bumped her shoulder with his. “Were you thinking that someone may have asked me to write you a love song? A secret admirer, perhaps?”

Cassandra could feel her cheeks blush and she sat up straighter. “ _No!_ ” She sputtered. “It would be ridiculous that anyone…”

“Would find you absolutely charming? A veritable delight? An incredibly attractive woman that they would long to get to know better?”

“You’re teasing again,” she said, her voice flat.

Rolfe opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it. “Well,” he drawled instead, settling his lute on his lap and idly picking at the strings. “I _guess_ it wouldn’t hurt to say that you are getting a song, and it’s from a not-so secret admirer at that. I wasn’t going to say anything until it was done and I had a chance to practice it, but I don’t want you leaving here thinking that no one had thought about you on Kissing Day.”

Her eyes widened. “You wrote a song? For _me?_ ”

“Several songs, my lady. None of them are finished, but I like how they sound in my head. This one isn’t finished either; I haven’t thought of any lyrics to go with the tune, but I’m almost thinking that it doesn’t need any. Would you like to hear what I have written?”

“I…well, that is to say…” she swallowed another gulp of wine. “Yes, please.”

Rolfe cleared his throat and put his fingers in a different position on the lute. “All right, but remember, this isn’t finished and I haven’t gone back to tweak notes. There may be some more…”

“Are you going to play for me, or are you going to apologize in advance?” She crossed her arms in front of her chest, but she was smiling while she spoke.

He let out a breath, eyes sparkling as he smiled. “As my lady commands.”

Cassandra’s smile fell as he began to play. She listened as he bent his head to concentrate on his notes, producing some of the loveliest music she’d ever heard in her entire life. Her eyes began to water and she blinked rapidly, never thinking in her life that something so wonderful could have ever been inspired by her.

“Well?” Rolfe asked, looking up from the strings. “Like I said, it isn’t done, but what do you think?”

Without thinking, Cassandra cupped his face in her hands and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “It was perfect, just as it is.”

Rolfe froze, breath stuttering out from his lungs in surprise. Her fingers were cool against his jaw and she was still so close that it wouldn’t take much for him to turn his head and brush her lips with his own for a proper kiss. “Well,” he said, absolutely mortified when his voice croaked out as if he were some sort of schoolboy faced with his crush. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “I’m glad you liked it.” Taking a chance, he leaned the side of his face against hers, enjoying the rare moment of closeness.

“What’s it called?”

He leaned back only enough to look her in the eye. “I haven’t really thought of a name. I was going to call it _You Hit My Heart Hard like You Hit That Demon Last Friday_ ,” he smiled at the noise that she made. “But I think that _Cassandra_ fits it far better.”

She groaned. “Varric gave you a fitting nickname,” she said, sliding out of the booth. “Thank you for the drink, and for the song.”

Rolfe reached out to catch her hand before she left. “The pleasure was all mine,” he told her, bending his head over her knuckles. He watched as she retreated outside and chuckled to himself. Theirs was an odd dance: he could tell that she was attracted to him and he made absolutely no secret that he adored her, but for some reason, she pushed him away before things grew serious between them.

“Perhaps it’s for the best, Old Boy,” Rolfe murmured to himself, picking up his notebook and tapping the stub of a pencil on the note he had left off on. One of the many upsides of her visit, aside from enjoying her company, was that he was suddenly inspired to finish her song. The notes had been sitting there out of reach on the fringes of his imagination, but watching the way that Cassandra’s eyes had shimmered in the lamplight and still feeling the soft imprint of her lips on his cheek, the notes bloomed on the page as if they had only been waiting for that moment to reveal themselves. “Women like that aren’t meant for dallying and then leaving.” He knew it in his bones: Cassandra Pentaghast was a forever type of woman and before her, thoughts of even entertaining brief flirtations with that particular brand of woman had put Rolfe on edge as if he were neck-deep in quicksand. He was more the type better suited for no-strings trysts where both parties went their different ways without any hard feelings.

Rolfe sighed, more notes appearing as if by magic on the page. He thought again to the soft look in her eye and the way she had smiled at him. Who was he kidding? For Cassandra, he’d gladly go under.


	4. cure for hypothermia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written in November 2016. Set directly after the events in Haven. Rolfe's one-sided conversations were heavily influenced by the Mouse from Ladyhawke.

Rolfe woke with a gasp and immediately regretted it. Pain lanced through his back and ribs with each breath and it took a moment for him to figure out just where he was. It was dark, wet, and the cold chilled him down to the bone.

“Damn it all,” he hissed, sitting up. He bit back a cry, holding onto his right thigh. From the dim light of the mark on his hand – and he guessed he could thank the Maker for small favors – he could tell that a piece of wood from whatever planks he had fallen through had impaled his leg. Gingerly inspecting the wound, he discovered that at least it hadn’t gone all the way through and out the other side, but it still didn’t keep him from gritting his teeth and muffling a groan of pain when he pulled it out, blood spreading out at an alarming rate. Quickly untying the sash at his waist, he tied it around his leg as best as he could. He was one big hurt wrapped up in multiple injuries: his back ached from where Corypheus had thrown him against the trebuchet, his ribs protested every breath he took of frigid air, telling him that at least one was cracked, if not outright broken. His left shoulder was on fire from being dangled by the arm, but the worst was the Mark. The thing sputtered and crackled much like it had done when he had first received it, more than likely still reacting to the orb that Corypheus had been holding.

“Well, at least that rules out divine gifts,” Rolfe said out loud, leaning his head against the stone wall. “All right, Trevelyan. Two options: sit here and freeze to death, or get up and try to find someone.” His nails scrabbled against the wall for purchase as he hauled himself to his feet. There was a high probability of him freezing to death either way, but at least getting up and moving was doing something productive. Pulling a knife from the sheath at the small of his back, he limped forward. He'd lost his daggers in the fall, but at least he was somewhat armed should he encounter anything hostile.

It could have been minutes or it could have been hours later, but Rolfe felt the change in the air up ahead. It gave him hope that he wasn’t as lost as he had thought he had been. While he walked, his thoughts went to a cousin he had in Tantervale. _She_ would have been able to tell him exactly where he was and what the historical significance of the ruins he was currently traversing. “Then again, had Ravena been here, she would have been smarter than to pick a fight with an ancient Tevinter magister, that’s for sure.” He leaned against the cavern wall and retied the sash around his leg with fingers numbed from the cold.

“You know, this had better be the way out,” he muttered. “I don’t even know who I’m talking to.” Tipping his head up towards the cavern’s roof, Rolfe let out a sarcastic huff of laughter. “Are you there, Maker? It’s me, Rolfe.” He was going to say something else, but stopped in his tracks when he heard a noise in front of him.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” he whispered, bending painfully to fish out the second spare knife he kept in his boot. There were three Despair demons guarding the exit of the cavern. _One_ he could deal with, even as hurt as he was, but three? The best he could hope for was to be as silent as he possibly could and stick to the numerous shadows, praying that by some miracle he’d escape undetected.

And it was working too, until the Mark violently flared to life. “This is a cosmic joke, isn’t it, Lord?” he shouted, slashing at the nearby demon with his blade. “Let’s see just how much shit Rolfe Trevelyan can take in one day, huh?” He cried out when one of the demons threw a sharpened pick of ice at him, the projectile hitting his shoulder, but thankfully deflected by his armor. His hand was on _fire_ , and he had the instinct to raise it above his head, just like he did when closing a rift. Green light exploded from his palm, enveloping the three demons. They screamed along with Rolfe as all three of his enemies disintegrated into ash around him. Falling to one knee, Rolfe clutched his hand to his chest and tried to ignore the fresh jab of pain that went from his palm, up to his elbow, and merged with the pain at his shoulder.

“I hope you took bets with Andraste,” he panted, stumbling back to his feet. “Because this? This is nothing.”

The fresh air once he reached the end of the cave was welcome, but it brought with it howling winds and blinding snow that his landing space had shielded him from. It was still dark out, which was something of a blessing: through the drifts of snow, he could make out the faintest outline of a constellation – or at least he _hoped_ it was a constellation – that he used to orient himself. Trudging through snow was worse on his injured leg, especially when he hit pockets that were hip deep. 

“Oh, please,” he breathed, seeing something in the distance. He hurried as best as he could towards it, only to have his hopes dashed when all that he had seen was an abandoned camp fire, as dead and cold as everything else around him. “But at least you know they came this way,” he reasoned, teeth chattering. He didn’t bother trying to coax fire from the leftover wood, knowing that it was pointless to do anything but move forward. He had walked for some time when his foot tripped on something, sending him pitching face first to the ground. Painfully twisting to see what he had gotten caught on, his heart fell.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, reaching out to the fallen Inquisition soldier. He didn’t know who he was, but the man wore a uniform designating him as one of Leliana’s scouts. His skin was blue and blood crusted the front of his uniform. “Go to the Maker’s side and rest with grace.” Rolfe attempted to close the man’s eyes, but his eyelids were frozen open.

Tipping his head up, Rolfe shook his head. “What is the _point_ of this, o Lord?” he snarled. “What lessons are you trying to teach us? That you’ve truly abandoned your children and allow atrocities such as this to happen without intervening on our behalf?” He fumbled back to his feet and used his pain and anger to propel him forward.

“You must have truly abandoned us then. I’ve seen too many things done in your name to think that you’d approve of us. Void, I’ve _done_ too many things on behalf of my supervisors in your name to know that you wouldn’t approve of me.” Rolfe’s heart lodged in his throat and he stumbled towards yet another campfire. He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt the faintest amount of warmth from the ashes. Here, he took enough time to breathe the smallest fire to life. It didn’t last long; the wood that had been used was wet with snow, but it was enough to give him hope. It was also enough to give him light to see the extent of his injuries. His pant leg was soaked in blood and he knew that if he didn’t find the rest of Haven’s survivors, he could add himself to the other bodies he had found on his trek. Shivering, Rolfe moved on.

“I may not fully believe you’re even up there, Maker,” he said, his breath ghosting out in front of him. “And I know I’ve never been the most pious of men. I know what I’ve done in the past and I don’t regret a single action, but please, don’t take my punishment for my sins out on them. If you’re even listening to me, protect those who are out here. Guide them to safety and keep the casualties low.”

Rolfe tried to laugh, but it hurt too much to do so. “She may argue that she doesn’t need it, and you know as well as I how utterly capable she is, but I beg you, protect Cassandra. She has so much faith in you that it’s dazzling to see. Don’t let this give her reason to doubt that her faith has been misplaced.” Rolfe’s breath caught when he saw the faintest glimmer of campfires up ahead of him. He took another step, but his strength was at the very limit. Snow crunched around his knees and he watched, seemingly apart from himself, as the ground around his right leg turned pink, then bright red. “Don’t worry about me; I’ve always looked after myself since I was young. I’m not about to stop looking after myself just because it seems hopeless.” Unable to stand, Rolfe began to pull himself towards the light on his hands and knees. It was so tempting to just stop, to just lie there and merely rest. He knew that once he did so, all the aches he felt would cease and he’d _finally_ be warm again.

“She would kill me if I did something stupid like die,” he rasped, lips chapped from the cold and the wind. The thought was enough to keep him moving, however slow his movements were. If he had the energy to, he would have wept in relief when he heard the panicked shout of a guard. Rolfe didn’t stop moving until he heard the thundering crunch of snow as multiple people ran towards him.

“Is he…?” Cullen, somewhere above him.

Someone fell to their knees beside him and Rolfe closed his eyes at the feel of warm leather against his neck. “He’s alive.” _Cassandra_. He sluggishly opened his eyes again and stared at her. Snow was dusted in her hair and clung to her eyelashes. He had the oddest sense of déjà vu as he recalled a story his nanny had often told him of beautiful winter spirits who saved travelers lost on the roads. Oblivious to the pain it caused, Rolfe raised his hand and weakly trailed a finger across her cheek.

“Real,” he croaked out. “Right leg. Bleeding out.”

It was enough to move her into action. Rolfe suddenly felt himself pulled to his feet, the cold armor and fur along his right side telling him that Cullen was taking the brunt of his weight, but the firm arm around his waist and slightly shorter figure propping up his left side was all Cassandra. “Don’t you _dare_ die on me, Trevelyan,” she barked, shouting orders for a spot to be cleared beside a fire. Amid the rush of excited voices, Rolfe heard the Iron Bull somewhere beyond his line of sight bellow for Stitches and Dalish.

He licked his lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Pentaghast.” He closed his eyes to gather his thoughts, but slumped heavily against Cullen instead. The last thing he remembered was Cassandra shouting out his name, her hands on his chest, and then everything went black.

It was still dark when he woke. Someone had placed him near a roaring fire and taken him out of his soaked jacket. There was a rough burlap sack draped over him as a blanket, which was better than nothing. The pain radiating from his body was still there, but it had been dulled to a tolerable throb.

Cool hands pressed down on his shoulder when he attempted to sit up. “Shh,” Rolfe turned his head and saw Cassandra kneeling beside him. “Rest.” She fumbled in a bag next to her, bringing out a vial of red liquid.

Rolfe shook his head. “Save it,” he told her, recognizing the healing potion. “There are others who need it more than I do.”

She narrowed her eyes. “There are,” she agreed. “Yet _you_ are needed too. Do you have any idea what your return means to these people? How much hope you’ve given them after seeing you come back from certain death?”

“It was survival, Cassandra. The same as the rest of them have done.” He tried to prop himself on an elbow, but he was so _tired_. “How many did we lose?”

Without thinking, Cassandra began to comb her fingers through his hair. “There hasn’t been time to make an official count, but…” she sighed. “Too many. We saved those we could, and that’s what is most important.”

Rolfe leaned his head into the gentle caress of her fingers at his temple. “I…I prayed for you,” she quietly confessed. “I begged the Maker not to take you from us, not when we’ve lost so many already. You might not think that you’re anyone special, that the only reason people follow you is because of the Mark on your hand, but you’re wrong.” She seemed to realize what she was doing, because her fingers stilled in his hair.

“Thank you,” he told her, for once not adding in any joke. “I prayed for you too.”

Her eyebrow rose. “You’ve said on several occasions that you’re not entirely sure the Maker even exists.”

“What can I say? You inspired me.” He looked up at her. “The Maker and I had a rather longwinded, one-sided conversation on the trip over here. I’ve said my piece to him, but I’ve yet seen a sign saying that he got the message.”

She shook her head, fingers moving down to cup his cheek. “Perhaps you aren’t looking hard enough.” Cassandra brought the potion vial up again and took out the cork. “Drink this, please. If not for yourself, then for those around you.”

Rolfe sighed, but nodded in agreement. Cassandra’s hand cupped the back of his neck to help him drink, and he felt the potion begin to work almost right away. “What was the damage?”

“Dislocated shoulder, two broken ribs, the beginnings of hypothermia. You were lucky that none of your organs were punctured, or that you didn’t get frostbite anywhere. You’re _especially_ lucky that the wound on your thigh had missed a major artery. Stitches believes that you may have suffered a concussion, but with your natural stubbornness, it’s hard to tell.”

He coughed out a laugh. “Why Cassandra. I do believe you told a joke at my expense. I’m rather proud.”

She smiled. “I have my moments. Now get some rest, you’ve earned it.”

Rolfe caught her hand before she could leave. “You know, I heard that the best cure for hypothermia is to take off all your clothes and cuddle with someone similarly naked.”

Cassandra’s eyebrow arched skeptically. “You don’t say,” she told him flatly.

“Shared body heat, darling.” He wiggled his eyebrows, but the effect was ruined when he broke out into a jaw-cracking yawn. “You wouldn’t want me to freeze to death, no would you?”

Rolling her eyes, she got to her feet. Rolfe turned his head as she picked up his coat from where it had been stretched out near the fire to dry. “This will have to do,” she told him curtly, draping it over him.

“You’re a cruel woman,” he teased.

She let out a harrumph at that. “If I were cruel, I would have left your coat over there.” Tucking the material around him, she sat back down. Rolfe watched as she stared out at the people trying to make sense of everything that had just happened to them. Sighing, she stretched her legs out. “Do _not_ let this go to your head,” she warned, lying down beside him.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he assured her. Cassandra lifted up the right edge of his coat and snuggled as much as she could underneath it, her head resting on his uninjured shoulder. Rolfe tried to lift his arm up for her to move closer, but she stopped him.

“Stitches and Dalish said that while they healed your ribs, it would be best if you didn’t move unnecessarily.”

“How did they heal broken bones so quickly?” It was more a rhetorical question, asked as he drifted off, so he wasn’t really expecting an answer.

“Stitches set them,” she supplied. “Dalish…ah, healed them. With her _bow_. She did the same for your leg.” The tone she used told Rolfe that she didn’t believe that explanation for a second, but she wasn’t going to say anything to argue it either.

“Ah. I’ll have to thank them both later.” He turned his head and pressed his cheek against the softness of her hair. Underneath the smell of wood smoke and coppery tang of blood, he could still catch the faintest trace of Andraste’s Grace he had tucked behind her ear at the start of the night, before everything had dissolved into chaos. “I never did get that dance, you know.”

She snorted. “Trust you to remember about that. And here I thought I’d get to weasel out of it.”

“As if I’d let that happen.” He was silent, listening to the crackle of the fire on his left and her even breathing on his right. “You do know that you could have told me no and I wouldn’t have held it against you, right?”

“I know.” She paused, her fingernail tracing the embroidery on his collar. “But perhaps I didn’t _want_ to say no.”

“And the weaseling out comment?”

“Even with the joyous occasion, I…” she sighed. “I know how to dance, but I prefer not to do it with so many eyes watching.” Rolfe didn’t say anything, and she continued. “But had we been alone, I would have liked to have done so with you.”

He couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his cracked lips. After all that had happened to them in one night, he would gladly take this bit of brightness for himself. “I’ll have to keep that in mind, the next time I ask.” Yawning again, Rolfe stretched his legs and closed his eyes. They were silent for the longest time and he was about to fall asleep when he felt Cassandra shift closer to him, her breath warm against his skin.

“You do that,” she whispered, mouth hovering close by. He didn’t react when she pressed her lips to his cheek, the corner of her mouth catching his. 

Rolfe finally fell into slumber, the knowledge that Cassandra Pentaghast had kissed him warming him from the inside out better than anything else could have done.


End file.
